Darwin must've done this.

Snow hadn't starting falling yet
and I was beginning to wonder
if the weather men were lying again.
When I'd raised the blinds ten minutes before
she'd groaned as she covered her head
with the blanket before rolling over.

"Close that."
"It's eleven. We've slept enough."
"I'm not done."
"Fine, I'll read for awhile."

My back was sore from work
and propping myself up against
two pillows to read in bed
wasn't helping matters.
I put the book back on my night stand
and peered through the window.
Still no snow, the frauds.
And they made more than I did somehow.

But there was some movement
on a limb of a tall pine tree standing
next to my house.
A big old crow was raising and lowering
its shoulders as it gave its undivided attention
to some unknown object in its grasp.
I lazily watched the bird in a daze
as she started snoring next to me.

Two minutes passed in this manner
until the crow's folly was revealed.
A small beige dinner roll slipped from its grip
and tumbled to the ground through the branches
hitting several on the way down.
My gaze fixed itself to the spectacle
more intently as I anticipated
the crow's distressed swoop to recover
the meal that had been occupying its time.

That never happened.
The crow didn't even seem agitated about its loss.
It never even looked down.
It was as though the bread had never existed.
I was jealous of the wise bird's selective indifference.

"Shut the blinds, Honey. Let's go back to sleep."
The covers had learned to speak in the interim.

In equal parts honor and shame
I complied that time.
Who was I to make decisions for both of us?
A feathered scavenger had stronger will-power.

We slept until two in the afternoon.
By then the flakes had started to fall.



I know, I know.
I don't get it either.





Currently reading:
"Shakespeare Never Did This" by Charles Bukowski.